Blut Part 1 By GenieVB
by GenieVB
Summary: Scully & Mulder come face to face with old questions and old advasaries.


Title: Blut   
  
Author: GenieVB  
  
Spoilers: Sien and Ziet   
*Tho' from the 'Scully   
comforts Mulder' scene,  
I'm steering it onto   
my own little highway.  
  
Rating: PG - language.  
  
Summary: Satisfaction if not  
justice.  
  
Disclaimer: Want no money  
or fame from you--Carter,  
or you--FOX. You're both   
rolling in it. I buy   
No-Name.  
  
  
*****  
  
Blut.  
  
**  
  
  
  
"My mother was trying to tell me something, Scully."  
  
"She wanted to save you from any more pain."  
  
Scully held him and said the words she knew were  
empty. If she'd ever felt any disdain or anger  
towards Tina Mulder, the woman's last act had  
compounded it. To "save" her son from pain had   
caused more for him than any other event in his   
life. She doubted that not even Samantha's disap-  
pearance had made him shake like he was now, or  
sob uncontrollably.  
  
Thanks Mother Mulder, Scully thought. Thanks for   
nothing.  
  
But she knew exactly what it felt like. Emily's   
death had solicited grief like that from her. Yet,   
she herself still had a mother, brothers, sister-in-  
laws, nieces and nephews to watch grow and so rejoice   
in.  
  
Tina Mulder had decided to "end" her son's pain  
(and her own had been Scully's thought when she  
joined Mulder at the horrible site of his mothers   
suicide), by swallowing a bottle of pills, turning   
on the gas, and then lying down on her bed's frilly   
quilt with the rose chintz trim. Leaving him the   
impossible task of trying to weave back together   
the last threads of his life, and salvage one or   
two good memories of what had been a family.  
  
Scully knew he had few.  
  
He would salvage his spirit, Scully knew. Yes, he   
would. He was so strong, after all. But at what   
cost?   
  
Some last gift, Scully had thought at the time.  
Was the gas just to be sure or for dramatic effect?  
Some people really do try to make an effective exit.  
  
  
She'd met Mulder on the lawn outside, after the   
body had been taken away and he lead her inside   
to view the death scenes.  
  
"She didn't kill herself, Scully."  
  
"What makes you say that, Mulder?"   
  
He'd indicated the whole house from where he was   
standing by a sweeping hand, "This, all this, the   
gas, the pills, the neatly made bed, it's all wrong.   
Staged, like a script from a bad movie. Like they   
were desperate for us to be believe it was suicide."  
  
Scully tread very carefully. "What if it was?"  
  
"Mom wouldn't kill herself, Scully."  
  
"Mulder, please understand that I'm not trying to  
read the mind of a woman I hardly knew, but what if   
she _had_ lost hope?"  
  
"You mean over Samantha?"  
  
Scully nodded, unprepared for his next words.  
  
"Maybe she didn't have anything left to live for."   
  
"Not even me" had been his implication. Dear God,   
Scully thought, I didn't mean you were nothing. But   
she couldn't bite back words already spoken.   
  
"But why now? My mother was a stubborn woman, a   
strong woman. She wouldn't take the easy way out."  
  
"Mulder-"  
  
"She called me last night, but I didn't get back   
to her."  
  
"Called you about what?"  
  
"I don't know but she said it was important. This,"   
He nodded to the now empty bed, "was done to prevent   
my learning what that was."  
  
Scully bit her lip. Perhaps murder.  
  
Or perhaps Mulder unable to deal with his mother not   
valuing him enough to stick around. Or not valuing   
life enough after her daughter had been gone for   
twenty-six years.  
  
*But why now?* It was a good question.  
  
They'd left the house together.  
  
*  
  
Mulder was an orphan. It was nothing she would be  
able to fix, not even with a firm hold or gentle  
kisses to his neck.  
  
Finally, his storm of grief passed and he lay down on  
his couch to rest. Scully switched the television on   
and left him to channel surf while she fixed something   
hot to drink for them both.  
  
This was a night she would spend with him here, in  
his apartment, though not under circumstances that  
were ideal. She recalled the last time she'd stayed  
overnight, when she'd finally learned through Director  
Skinner's handy fists on a less than willing to talk  
informant, that Mulder had gone north on a quest to   
learn the whereabouts of his long missing (or taken)   
sister and had almost died for his trouble.  
  
Now the one living link to any more knowledge of   
Samantha was forever hidden inside the dead brain of   
his mother's corpse. Scully decided that she hated the   
woman, at least for doing that; for not only orphaning   
her son but leaving him with no answers to ease the   
pain he was in. If it was suicide, in this case, it   
had been an almost wholly selfish act.  
  
She'd said to Mulder her impromptu words of Teena  
wanting to ease his pain, while knowing it certainly  
wouldn't.  
  
There was, she knew, one other still living source  
of possible enlightenment regarding Samantha's fate,  
but CGB Spender, formerly Ol' Smokie, wasn't   
talking.  
  
If they even knew where he was.  
  
*  
  
  
Lab Technician Sodja checked the results on his   
computer once more and shook his head.  
  
Well, she'd wanted a match for the records, just to   
tie up the loose ends, that's what her requisition   
had requested..."a thorough search of the data-base."  
  
Placing the three DNA film results into a manila   
envelope, he sealed it, stamped it, marked it internal   
post to Agent D. Scully, X Files Division, Hoover   
Building, and placed it in his out box. Then he   
thought better of it and picked up the phone.   
  
*  
  
"Mulder, I have to go out for a while."  
  
"Work?" He sat up from the couch, squinting in the   
bright early AM sun shining through his livingroom   
window. "Does Skinner want us in?"  
  
"No. It's Quantico. Just some unfinished lab work.   
I'll call you when I'm through."  
  
He nodded, padding off to the bathroom.  
  
"Will you be all right for a few hours?" She waited   
until his steady stream trickled to a halt and she   
heard the flush.  
  
He met her at the door. "Thanks for staying with me."   
He looked a bit embarrassed. "Thanks for...well..  
everything."  
  
She smiled a little, acknowledging his discomfort and   
so respecting his obvious desire to forget about his   
breakdown the previous evening.  
  
His cellular rang.   
  
"Anytime." She gave his cheek a soft pat. "Call   
you later."  
  
"Hello." She heard him answer as she closed the door.  
"Hey Frohike..."  
  
Good, she thought, a friend.  
  
*  
  
"Are you sure about this?" Scully stared at her old   
assistant. Since she no longer actually worked in   
Forensics Department, she spent very little time at   
Quantico, often utilizing facilities other than theirs  
during the occasional case where her skills as a   
pathologist were required.  
  
"I did the search as you asked. DNA doesn't lie, Doctor  
Scully. See for yourself."  
  
Scully scrutinized the three films before her, clearly  
recognizing the genetic markers, the patterns that said  
he was reporting accurate findings.  
  
She swallowed, fresh anxiety building in her stomach.  
"What made you decide to do a comparison?"  
  
Eyebrows on the rise, "Come on, Dana, I've known you long  
enough to read between the lines. Your partner's mother  
dies and you want me to run her DNA and her sons through  
the data base to use your words "just to be sure." Then  
you want a test run on this other agents blood to be  
sure he is who he is. You all but shouted, Dana." He   
gestured to the films on the desk, "So, these two names   
came up. All have their type on file and I must say, I  
find it as interesting as you do."  
  
"You can't say anything about this."  
  
He looked at her. "So what's new?" He cleared his throat.  
  
"Curious?"  
  
He wasn't sure if she was angry or not. "Not at all.  
A good pathologist doesn't just record facts, he or she   
asks questions: How? and Why?"  
  
She gathered the films in her hand, stuffing them back  
into the envelope. "I don't want you showing these to  
anyone."  
  
"Again, what's new?"  
  
She looked at him directly, so her meaning wouldn't be   
lost. "He's gone through a lot. I'll tell him myself."  
  
"One thing though, Doc', this is a matter of FBI record.   
You're not asking me to-?"  
  
"No. File it where you have to but there's no reason  
for you to necessarily right away let anyone know it's   
there, is there?" She countered.  
  
He spread his arms, hands up in a surrender. "It's  
your ball. Consider me benched."  
  
"Thanks Kar'."  
  
*  
  
Mulder almost hadn't recognized the voice on the other  
side of the door. But when he opened it, the face he   
did.  
  
"Mulder."  
  
Jeffery Spender wasn't one for sweet hello's.  
  
Mulder stepped aside, closing the door after the  
younger agent. The younger but supposed-to-be-  
dead former Agent Spender.  
  
Mulder, still a bit shaky on his feet, found himself  
speechless. Finding his voice, "Aren't you dead?"  
  
"If not for some unexpected help, I would be."  
  
Mulder didn't feel like word games. "What do you   
want?"  
  
"Your mothers dead."  
  
Spender didn't mean to be so blunt or so callus,   
blurting it out with such disregard for Mulder's   
feelings, but when he saw Mulder's face go plaster  
white, he backtracked a little. "I'm sorry. I'm  
being direct because we don't have much time."  
  
"Time for what? And how did you know my mother  
was dead?"  
  
Spender had more to tell him. "Can we sit down?"  
  
Mulder sat on the couch with Spender taking  
the wooden desk chair opposite.  
  
"Get to the point, Spender, I've already had my fill  
of beating around the bush."  
  
"I knew- I _suspected_ something might happen  
to your mother, I phoned her but she wouldn't  
talk to me. And I know she's dead because then  
I went there to speak to her and found her.  
I'm the one who made the phone call to the police."  
  
It was all Mulder could do not to wrap his hands around  
Spender's throat and squeeze the air from his body.  
Mulder clasped his shaking hands together, trying to  
hide his horror, betrayal and grief. This man had  
had no right to be the last person to see his mother,  
or the first to see her dead body.  
  
In his mind, Mulder screamed at her. It should have   
been _me_. Why couldn't you _ever_ talk to me?!  
  
Spender noticed the tiny tremor run down Mulder's   
body and he was not without remorse for having to   
tell him these things. He was also not without   
empathy. He knew what it was to lose a family, your  
only family.  
  
"She was murdered." Mulder said it as a statement  
of fact, not as speculation.  
  
Spender voiced his own ideas, "Maybe. In any case,  
I think I might know the reason why."  
  
"Oh? and what is that?" Mulder was angry, angrier  
than Spender had ever seen him, and the anger was  
being directed at..he didn't know. Maybe everywhere,  
all at once.  
  
"My mother knew the truth, or discovered it," Spender  
continued, "and so she was killed, along with all  
those men."  
  
"Those men worked with your father. He's responsible  
for their deaths, he sent them there. He's responsible  
for my sister's abduction, he responsible for my fathers   
murder and I think he's the one who killed my moth-"  
  
"-I know that!" Spender finally shouted back, then  
stating something the other man ought to know and  
understand. "You're not the only one who's lost  
someone because of him!"  
  
That silenced Mulder for the time being, and Spender  
let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm here because of  
that. Because of him."  
  
"What do you want from me?"  
  
"I want to kill him. I need your help."  
  
Mulder paused for only a heartbeat, "I don't know  
where he is. No one does."  
  
"Then we need to work together-"  
  
"You're out for Smokie blood? Why come to me?"  
  
Spender ignored Mulder's questions and asked   
one of his own, "If she was murdered, why do   
you think he would want your mother dead?"  
  
"Because she was going to tell me about Samantha,  
why she was taken, where she is." At Spender's  
tolerant head shake, Mulder darkened again, "Why  
do you think?"  
  
"Because he has what he needs now, and he's tying  
up loose ends."  
  
""What he needs"? From her?"  
  
"From you."  
  
Before Mulder could comment, someone knocked on his   
door. when he answered it, Scully entered carrying   
something and when her eyes found Spender, she halted,   
as if unsure whether to stay or turn around and leave   
again.   
  
"Agent Scully."   
  
Scully entered cautiously, getting a certain amount of  
comfort from the gun she had stuck between her belt and  
the skin of her back.   
  
At her look of disbelief, Spender nodded, "Yes, I'm   
surprised to be alive too."  
  
But alive when he shouldn't be. Like father, like son,   
Scully thought. "Why are you here, Spender?"  
  
"Trying to explain things to Mulder."  
  
"Things?"  
  
He looked from her to Mulder and back, knowing it was now   
two against one. "Yeah. "Things"."  
  
She sat on the end of the couch farthest from near where   
Spender sat. He noted it, but ignored the slight. It wasn't  
important.  
  
She layed the papers she'd brought on the coffee table before   
her. "I don't pretend to know how it is you're alive, Spender,   
and I'm not going to waste time speculating whether or not   
you're here to speak the truth, but since you are here, it's  
just as well. This concerns you too."  
  
She had their attention and Mulder sat down again, right  
beside her.  
  
"I did the autopsy on your mother," She addressed Mulder  
directly, "the results indicated nothing suspicious, nothing  
out of the ordinary except for the drugs in her system  
and a high level of carbon monoxide in her blood and tissues,   
evidence consistent with death by overdose and oxygen   
deprivation."  
  
She waited a few seconds for Mulder to swallow that before  
continuing. "I also ran a DNA test as you requested, to  
be sure it was her."  
  
Scully layed out, not one sheet before them, but three.  
"When I ran it through the medical data-base, I found this."  
She indicated marks on the first sheet with her finger. "It  
_was_ your mother, Mulder, who died."  
  
He nodded. "What are these others?"  
  
Scully glanced to Spender and back to Mulder. She indicated  
the second sheet. "This is your DNA," Showing him the marks  
with her finger, "It has markers here and here, matching  
you to your mother."  
  
Mulder nodded, with her so far. It was elementary genetic   
truth and nothing unexpected.  
  
"This one," Scully rested the tip of her finger on a single   
marker on the third sheet, "this person shares your DNA. This   
mark indicates you are related."  
  
"Who's is this?"  
  
"Jeffrey Spender."  
  
Mulder stared at her, down at the sheet and then at Spender.  
Quite a while at Spender.   
  
"I think you suspected this, didn't you, Mulder? But  
until now, never discussed it with me or anyone."  
  
"I was out of my head, that day, Scully. Mom never admitted  
to anything."  
  
"I heard her words, Mulder. Her death brought them back to  
me."  
  
"What words.?" His memory of that day in his mother's   
house was truly foggy. All he remembered was screaming   
at her and she slapping his face as hard as she could.  
  
"You asked her who your father was. Do you remember what she  
said?"  
  
It was there now, pound against his consciousness like a   
small hammer. *"Why?! So you can kill him _again_?!"*  
  
Mulder looked across the coffee table to Spender, who  
was looking uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter." He said   
to both of them.  
  
Scully sighed. "Mulder, why didn't you ever ask me  
run this test? Didn't it seem odd that Spender- that CGB  
- took that photo from your apartment? Didn't you  
ever wonder why your mother said those things she did?"  
  
"I _said_ it doesn't matter. What matters is finding  
CGB and him telling me what happened to Samantha and then  
I'm going to-"  
  
Scully looked at him and his unspoken vengence. "And  
what, Mulder?"  
  
He stood, his hands on his hips, looking down at the  
papers layed out on the coffee table, looking down at  
them from a great distance it seemed. Standing miles away  
from the whole scene, at it and himself as though through  
a telescope, trying to figure out who the hell he was   
seeing. Who he _was_.  
  
"I don't care about any of this."  
  
"You want to find CGB?" Spender asked him pointedly.  
  
When Mulder threw him a "no shit" look, "Then you  
have to work with me, which doesn't thrill me much   
either, by the way."  
  
"You want to kill your own father?" Mulder asked.  
  
"Don't you?" Spender bit back, then added, "He didn't  
think twice about putting a hole in my chest. Do you   
think he'll flinch about putting one in yours?"  
  
Scully stared. "Are you saying CGB is out to kill Mulder?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Why?" Mulder asked.  
  
Spender couldn't believe the naivety, "Because now  
that he's got what he wants, and now that your mother  
is dead and can't talk, you're the last tie to him  
and his group, to the experiments, to the murders."  
  
Scully watched Mulder, who seemed to be considering  
Spenders words at least, not dismissing them outright.  
  
"He may be right, Mulder. They used you, they took  
what they wanted, and now what's to stop them?"  
  
"He's not my father."  
  
Spender didn't argue. "He's still a murderer. Unfort-  
unately, because he was my father, I believed him,   
tried to make sense of what he was doing. I'm here  
to stop you from making the same mistake."  
  
"I have never believed that son-of-a-bitch!"  
  
"But you're taking no precautions. You're getting up  
every day as if you have no reason to be careful.  
But you do."  
  
"Why don't you try making sense, Spender." Mulder  
said contemptuously. 


End file.
